


Sammy's Belly-Ache

by Sawyers_Shenanigans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Dean Winchester, Dean loves his brother, M/M, Mild Scat, Sickfick, johns doing the best he can, mild watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sawyers_Shenanigans/pseuds/Sawyers_Shenanigans





	Sammy's Belly-Ache

He’d woken up feeling off. In fact, Dean had had to wake him which almost never happened anymore. At breakfast, he hadn’t fought for the last bowl of lucky charms. The somewhat stale toast felt safer. On the ride to school, he was quiet. 

“Are you okay buddy? Did I do something to piss you off?” Dean questioned as they pulled into the school parking lot.

“I’m alright.” Sam said reaching down for his backpack, “And I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Dean said dubiously. “Let me know if anything changes,” Dean added as Sam climbed out of the car. Sam held up a hand in acknowledgment as he walked towards the school. 

The school day sucked. Thus far, things at this highschool had been fine. There were no major bullies, kids were nice enough, and classes were just challenging enough to be interesting without being too hard to keep up with. But today, Sam could barely keep his eyes open. His whole body ached, his stomach felt like it was full of lead and his head was fuzzy. His physics lab partner kept having to poke him to keep him awake by the end of the day. 

When Dean pulled into the parking lot at three fifteen, Sam had never been happier to see him. 

“How you feelin’?” Dean questioned as Sam collapsed into the passenger seat. 

“Bad,” Sam said simply. 

“Anything specific?” Dean questioned, giving Sam a once over as they pulled out of the parking lot. He was turned away, facing the window so Dean couldn't see his face. He’d curled up as much as his ever-growing body could and his head was leaned against the car. 

“Tired. Achy. Stomach.” Sam yawned, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to sleep and feel better. 

“We’ll be home soon. You can sleep. I’ll call ya in sick tomorrow, how’s that sound?” 

“Thanks, D,” Sam mumbled, already drifting off. 

When they got back to the motel, Dean briefly thought about trying to carry Sam in before shaking that thought from his head. Even if he wasn’t almost as big as Dean was, he was probably too old for that shit. Dad would definitely think so and he should still be in there. Still, after he turned off the car, he did walk around the passenger side and open the door. 

“Wake up Sam, we’re back. You can go to bed.” Dean said as he pulled Sam’s backpack out of the car. “I’ve got your stuff, you just get yourself.” Sam woke and climbed out groggily, his face crinkled with sleep. Dean closed the door behind them and stepped just a little faster than normal to get ahead and open the door for Sam. 

“In, get to bed,” Dean instructed as the two boys entered the room. John looked up then, brow furrowed. 

“Boys.” He nodded, scanning them. Dean carrying Sam’s backpack, Sam already heading towards the beds, kicking off his shoes as he walked. 

“Night,” Sam mumbled, throwing his hoodie onto the foot of the bed and climbing in. 

“Sam’s sick,” Dean explained as he dropped Dean’s backpack on the floor, and sat at the table. 

“I gathered,” John said, returning to the paperwork in front of him. Dean sat for a moment in silence before shaking his head, grabbing a beer from the fridge and sitting with a newspaper on the couch. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hey, kid.” Dean grinned around dinnertime when Sam finally emerged from his cocoon. “How ya feelin’?” 

“Still bad.” Sam yawned, coming over and curling up on the other side of the couch. He fished the remote from between the cushions and clicked the tv on, a civil war documentary began to play. Content enough, he left it on. Twenty minutes later, and John was in the armchair with a beer, all three men watching the TV. 

A reenactment played, and the narrator had just started talking about field amputations when Sam lept off the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom. The door slammed behind him and the noises that came from behind it made John turn up the television. When he returned ten minutes later, his face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. 

“Feel any better?” Dean questioned as the youngest Winchester slumped back into his spot on the beat-up brown couch. 

“Nu-uh,” Sam mumbled, not bothering to follow dad's full sentence rule. 

“Di'ja eat anything today?” John questioned, turning back down the television and turning to his son. 

“Half a sandwich at lunch,” Sam mumbled, laying his head on the back of the couch. 

“Think you could stomach anything now?” John questioned, still studying the boy whose eyes were now closed.

“Don’t think so.” Sam yawned, curling up tighter. 

“Is it just your stomach?”

“Whole-body,” Sam responded, almost inaudibly. John sighed and rose from his chair. He put his bottle in the sink. As he reached into the fridge for another, his phone rang. As he answered and headed for the door he turned back. 

“Get back to bed Sammy, only sleep fix ya.” The door closed behind him with a thump. Dean sighed and stood, reaching a hand down to his half-asleep brother. 

“You heard the man Sam, back to bed.” Dean pulled his brother up, and nudged him back to bed before turning off the TV and pulling out a box of Kraft Dinner. Sam may not be hungry, be he was.


End file.
